


Freedom From Excess Modesty (This is all Nancy’s fault)

by toomanysharks



Series: Am I Dreaming or is that a Prompt-Based Harringrove Series? [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, POV Billy Hargrove, Sasshole Billy Hargrove, Short Shorts, ariana grande as unintentional fashion inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysharks/pseuds/toomanysharks
Summary: “My god,” Nancy grimaced. “Those are horrific.”“I’d like to remind you, it’s your fucking fault I’m wearing them,” Billy pointed out.---Or, Nancy pushes Billy into the pool and Steve has limited clothing options to lend him.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Am I Dreaming or is that a Prompt-Based Harringrove Series? [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771882
Comments: 7
Kudos: 198





	Freedom From Excess Modesty (This is all Nancy’s fault)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt "clothes sharing". 
> 
> Be sure to check out [**Ask Nice**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519391) by [**sprinkle_of_cinnamon**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkle_of_cinnamon) to see a take on clothes sharing with 100% more Cali beach vibing and nerdery from the kids

“This is all Wheeler’s fucking fault,” Bill muttered to himself as he stared at Harrington’s shorts in his hands and tried not to have a meltdown.

The three of them had gotten dressed after swimming all afternoon, just shooting the shit while the kids played obnoxiously in the pool. Billy had gotten up to grab the beach ball for Max since Mike knocked it out into the grass, and as he stood at the pool’s edge, about to toss it back to her, Nancy had pushed him into the shimmering water, fully clothed. Harrington had still been doubled over in laughter by the time he re-surfaced. 

That’s what he got for doing nice things. 

Ever the gracious host, Harrington had quickly offered to lend him some clothes. So now, Billy was standing in the guy’s childhood bedroom, fucking _naked_ , gripping Harrington’s tiny green shorts in his hands and trying not to imagine lean legs and a cute butt scantily clad in green polyester. This was not a thought he was prepared to be having, this was some Level Three bullshit. 

Billy had a fucking system. He kept his thoughts and his stupid _feelings_ , or whatever, in three separate categories. 

Level One: things he was willing to admit out loud.   
Level Two: things he would admit to himself but would never say out loud.   
Level Three: things he _knew_ but wouldn’t even admit to himself. Because then he’d have to, like, fucking deal with it, and that was still an absolute no-go for some shit, no matter how much things had changed. 

And things had definitely changed. Getting clued into the secret government operation and the fucking _monsters_ had changed everything. 

So, Billy could admit, out loud, that he had been a huge asshole. He could admit, out loud, that he shouldn’t have beat the shit out of Harrington. (Different from apologizing, but it seems like the guy took it as one anyway so no need to _actually_ apologize at this point, right?) He could also admit, out loud, that they had reached some kind of treaty. Not just him and Harrington, but the brats, too, and he had been pulled into The Party with great reluctance on his part and great determination on the kids’ part. 

He could admit, to himself, that he kinda liked being in The Party. Beat the fuck out of being on the outside of it. He could even admit to himself that even though he was currently mad as hell at Nancy Wheeler for pushing him into a goddamn pool, she maybe wasn’t as horrendous as he had previously thought, but he’d never fucking say that. 

Just like he’d never say in the presence of The Party that Star Trek was clearly better than Star Wars; because it wasn’t worth the headache when it came to the kids. The fact that he had actually spent time thinking about which franchise was better was a Level Two Thought in itself - nobody had to fucking know he had _opinions_ on that shit. 

He had considered that maybe he had previously hated Nancy Wheeler for reasons unrelated to her general being, and more for the space she occupied in Steve Harrington’s life once upon a time, but he pushed that thought away. That was a Level Three Thought and it rarely saw the light of day. It remained locked away at the back of his mind with the rest of his secrets-not-secrets, like the fact that he was 100%, undeniably into Steve Harrington. 

That particular nugget remained a Level Three Thought, not because he was ashamed of being into dudes, it was 2020 for fuck's sake, but because it was specifically _Steve Harrington_. As in, the guy who was actively contributing to global warming with the amount of aerosol hairspray he used. The guy who once went on for 15 minutes about how a hot dog on a bun is technically a sandwich when you think about it, when he was completely _sober_. The guy who had spotify playlists with pretentious titles like ‘ _the everchanging color of the sky’_ and ‘ _floating above myself, looking in’_ \- like, what the fuck? 

Steve Harrington was also, apparently, the guy who owned tiny fucking shorts. Billy crumpled said tiny shorts in his hand with a sigh. There’s no way this was gonna work. “Harrington,” he called through the door, “Why are you wearing children’s sized clothes? You gotta have something else I can wear.” 

“Fuck off, Hargrove,” Steve responded, and Billy was struck by the fact that there was no heat behind it, and it almost sounded fond. He tucked that way, deep down where he wouldn’t examine it. “You told me you didn’t want the jeans.” 

Billy imagined trying to fit into Harrington’s jeans, which usually looked like they were painted on the guy’s lean frame, and he knew for a fact that he’d spent too many Leg Days at the gym to even consider it. He’d fucking ruin them, assuming he could even get them up over his thighs. 

“Don’t you have, like, pajama pants? Sweatpants? Literally anything that’s more than 4 inches of fabric with a waistband?” Billy complained as he wrestled the shorts on, thanking any god who was listening that they at least had a compression layer under the polyester to keep things in check. The last thing he needed was to have his junk fall out of these fucking things.

“Hey! There’s more than four total inches there!” Steve trailed off for a second. “At least, I think there is. Anyway, I sleep in my underwear, so it’s a strike on the pajamas. I’ve got soccer pants or compression tights if you’d prefer one of those?”

Billy bit back a ‘that’s what she said’ joke about the four inches. He knew, in that secret-not-secret way that Steve was working with a whole hell of a lot more than four inches. Between high school locker rooms and communal showers in college dorms, he had seen that much.

He yanked the door open to find Steve on the other side of it, leaning against the hallway wall. “You got something against your quads? Is that why you’re always suffocating them with fabric when you’re wearing something longer than these puppies?” He motioned to the shorts and watched as Harrington’s gaze lingered for maybe a moment too long. Another thing he tucked away to be ignored. “I mean Jesus, are these from the 80s? Didn’t realize they made shorts this short anymore.” 

Steve cleared his throat. “The 2 inch inseam provides maximum freedom.” He sounded like he was rattling off some kind of fucking advert for the shorts. Which, he probably was. “No excess fabric means freedom from excess heat, freedom from excess sweating--” 

“Freedom from excess modesty?” Billy cut him off, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’re being dramatic,” Steve said. “Most competitive runners wear them.” 

“Which doesn’t really explain why _you’ve_ got them. Unless you were secretly on the track team?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, forearms pulling at his necklace chain as he shifted, which only served to remind him Harrington hadn’t gotten him a shirt yet. “You got a shirt bigger than a size Youth Medium I could borrow?”

Steve huffed, but pushed past Billy into the room. As he rummaged around, Billy took a second to scope out his surroundings. He’d been to Steve’s place a few times in high school, but _shockingly_ hadn’t spent time in the guy’s bedroom, and it wasn’t exactly like they were taking trips back to La Casa Harrington once they went off to college. But Summer had rolled up on them and the miserable humidity had them hightailing it back to take advantage of the pool while Steve’s parents were off in France. Or Italy. Billy wasn’t really clear on where exactly they were, but it was somewhere that required a passport, for sure.

He was in the middle of flipping through the pile of concert tickets haphazardly stacked on the bed side table (who the fuck were these bands anyway? _Christ,_ Harrington’s a hipster) when Steve made a triumphant sound behind him. 

“Here ya go,” Steve called, throwing the shirt at Billy. “Oughta meet your high standards.” 

Billy caught it, letting it unfurl in his hands and assessing it before putting it on. “Really? Why do you even _own_ this?” 

“I really wanted a shirt from the trip. And my parents never paid enough attention to care what I was buying,” Steve said. 

Billy arched a brow at him, trying to communicate, without words, that that wasn’t a good enough excuse to have this shirt in his possession. 

“I took most of my stuff to school with me,” Steve said. “So your options are this, the Mordor Fun Run t-shirt that’s too small, even for me, or nothing but those little shorts.” 

Billy weighed his options. He definitely needed a shirt because the air conditioning in the house was too cold to go around 90% naked, even if he ran a little warm. The Mordor shirt was tempting, but then he’d have the kids wanting to talk about Middle Earth, and his vast Lord of the Rings knowledge was something he tried to keep at Level Two. Again, not worth the headache of admitting out loud and opening the door for conversation. 

“Fine,” Billy hissed, pulling the shirt on over his head. 

* * *

Nancy did a double take when she saw him, which was fair. 

“Billy. Are you even wearing shorts?” she asked, eyebrows scrunched up in genuine concern. 

Billy lifted the front of his shirt up to reveal the tiny shorts underneath. “Barely,” he said, before he dropped the shirt back down and huffed. 

“My god,” Nancy grimaced. “Those are horrific.” 

“I’d like to remind you, it’s your fucking fault I’m wearing them,” he pointed out. 

“And the shirt?” She asked, gesturing at the flowing fabric. “Or should I say dress?”

“For some reason, my options were either XXS or 3XL” He shot a dirty look at Harrington before he felt his face melt into a grin.”And bigger is usually better.” He punctuated the joke with an excessive eyebrow waggle, licking his lips as he did.

Steve’s cheeks flushed a bright pink color and Billy was immediately validated. He would admit (Level Two) that he _knew_ his innuendos and general aura made Harrington blushy, but he didn’t want it to lose it’s effect, so he’d toned it down over the years. He also knew (Level Three) that he fucking loved making Steve blush, so sometimes he just couldn’t resist. 

“If I knew pushing you into the pool was going to result in having to see you in this get up, I would never have done it,” Nancy said. “I did throw your clothes in the washer for you though.” 

Dustin stormed in from the patio, eyes ablaze. “I know you’re trying to have bonding time in here while we fuck around in the pool, but you guys have to back me up on this. Chris Pine is objectively the best Chris, right? Like when you consider ---- holy fuck what the shit are you wearing, Billy?” 

He had clearly clocked Billy’s outfit. “My money is on Hemsworth, actually,” Billy said with a shrug, not dignifying the second question with a response. The kid had eyes, he could fucking _see_ what Billy was wearing. 

“Are you even wearing any pants? Why is the shirt so _big_? And why does it say SAN FRANGSCO? What the fuck is that?” Dustin waved his hand at the offending shirt. Billy lifted the shirt again, and Dustin moved to cover his eyes with his hands. “Dear god, no!” Billy just laughed but dropped the shirt. 

“He’s wearing shorts, Dustin, calm the fuck down,” Steve said, pulling Dustin’s hands away from his eyes. “And look, I liked the design of the Golden Gate Bridge on it, and it was the only size they had left. Didn't notice the typo until we got home, and it’s lived in the back of my closet since then.” 

Nancy laughed at that. “I can’t believe you’d leave such an amazing souvenir to waste away in the darkness like that.” 

“I can't believe you didn’t just put your swim trunks back on,” Dustin commented, nodding at Billy. 

Billy huffed. “Still wet from when we were actually swimming. Just like all my clothes, thanks to _Wheeler_. Wasn’t about to watch a movie in cold, wet swim trunks.” 

“In her defense, it was hilarious watching you fall in the pool fully clothed,” Dustin said. 

“You know what else would be hilarious?” Billy asked, taking a step towards Dustin. “If I went and told all the other gremlins that you never finished reading _Dune_ , you just googled a synopsis.”

Dustin gasped, taking a step away. “I told you that _in confidence_!”

Harrington wrapped his hand around Billy’s bicep, pulling him back. “Calm down, kids.” He turned back to Dustin. “Gotta say Hemsworth is my vote, too.”

“Of course he is,” Nancy said with a grin. “Blonde, muscled, man with a sense of fashion and a bright smile? It’s, like, exactly your type.” And that was certainly something that Billy was packing far, far away in the depths of Level Three, never to be looked into further.

“Really, Nance?” Steve muttered. “I told you that _in confidence._ ” 

“Lotta that going around,” Dustin hissed, glaring at Billy. Billy narrowed his eyes but made no move to get closer - Steve’s hand was still wrapped around his arm. 

“Anyway, my vote is for Chris Evans,” Nancy said.

Steve finally took his hand off Billy, shooing Dustin back out the patio door. “There, you got all our picks, now beat it. Go hang out with your friends who are your own age.” 

“Yeah,” Billy taunted. “Leave the adults alone so we can have fun without you dang kids” 

Dustin rolled his eyes. “We’re not even that young anymore! Ya know what? Whatever. Like I’d want to spend any more time around you when you look like _that._ ” He turned and left before Billy could get another menacing comment out. 

“I can’t believe he’s your favorite,” Billy said to Steve. “Kid is a little shit.” 

“They’re all like that,” Steve pointed out. “It’s why we love them.” 

Actually caring about the kids was a Level Two Thought but clearly he’d been more transparent about it than he’d thought. Whatever, he still wasn’t as much of a loser as Harrington about it. 

Nancy’s phone dinged and she grinned as she read the text. “Jonathan just got home from work. Is it okay if I bail on the movie to go hang out with him?”

“Bros before hos, Wheeler. Very disappointing,” Billy tutted, gathering snacks in his arms. He figured that was better than saying ‘ _please leave so I can watch a movie alone with Steve’_. Which wasn’t really something he’d say anyway. Level Three.

“Tell him he still owes me twenty bucks from the Keanu Reeves movie marathon,” Steve said, waving at Nancy and heading into the living room. “See ya later Nance.”

Nancy made quick work of grabbing her bag, slipping on shoes, and fucking skedaddling, which Billy was not mad about. 

“So,” Steve said, plopping down on the couch next to Billy, despite there being plenty of room to leave a whole cushion between them. “Whatcha wanna watch?” He turned on Netflix, flipping through options idly. 

“Nothing with Keanu Reeves in it,” Billy huffed. “How exactly did you blow twenty bucks on a Keanu movie marathon?” 

Steve gasped, clutching at imaginary pearls. “How dare you? Every Keanu Reeves movie is a masterpiece, simply because he’s in it.” He reached over and grabbed popcorn out of the bowl in Billy’s lap, and Billy tried not to think of the expanse of his thighs that were exposed in these fucking shorts and Steve’s proximity to his bare skin. “And the twenty bucks was actually a bet.” 

“A gambling man,” Billy grinned at him. “What was the wager?” 

“Jonathan didn’t think I could watch all those movies without comparing Keanu Reeves to you,” Steve said, super casual, like that was a normal fucking sentence. Billy quickly looked back at the TV, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

He tried to keep his cool, but he could feel the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. “Why would that even make sense? I look nothing like him,” Billy pointed out. “If we’re talking Keanu movies, Point Break Swayze is the obvious comparison.”

“Yeah, but 90’s Keanu is like, a fucking babe. He could hit it,” Steve says. “So Jonathan figured I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from comparing you two, because you’ve got that in common.” 

Billy shifted anxiously in his seat at that and looked back at Steve, and his face was fucking _mischievous_. He looked like he was enjoying making Billy squirm. 

“You saying I’m a babe, Harrington?” Billy asked, trying for light and joking, probably missing by a mile. “I know the outfit makes me irresistible.” 

“Yeah, I’m saying you’re a babe,” Steve said, taking the popcorn out of Billy’s lap. “And I’m also saying you could hit it.” 

“Technically,” Billy said, voice only slightly strained as Steve’s hand skated along the outside of his thigh, “I _have_ hit it before. Repeatedly. Even broke a plate in the process.” 

Steve’s fingers slipped under the hem of the shorts, hand splayed out over the side of Billy’s thigh, but stopped there. Steve was leaning into his space, his other arm on the back of the couch. Billy felt caged in, in the best possible way. He had the absurd thought, again, that this was all Wheeler’s fault. He wouldn’t be in these stupid shorts if it weren’t for her.

“Yeah, but I forgave you for that,” Steve said, smiling at him. 

“Never apologized,” Billy contested. 

“Didn’t have to,” Steve said. “Could see it on your face every time you looked at me. You do a pretty good job of lying to yourself sometimes, but I still see you.” 

“And what is it, exactly, that you think you see when you look at me?” Billy asked. 

Steve’s hand squeezed at Billy’s thigh, and he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him at the movement. “You’re doing a lot of talking considering I’m _very_ obviously trying to put the moves on you,” Steve commented. 

“Maybe that’s because I can’t believe you’d ever actually want anything like this from me, pretty boy.” And, shit. That’s a Level Three Thought for sure, what the fuck. Why was that part of his conscious thought process and why was he saying that out loud? He should have said something like _maybe your moves just suck that much, Harrington_ , and instead, he went and spilled his fucking guts.

Steve pulled his hand off of Billy’s thigh and he immediately regretted saying anything instead of putting his mouth to better use. “You wanna know what I see when I look at you?” Steve asked, head cocked to the side. 

Billy nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. 

“I see someone who has been through fucking hell,” Steve said, leaning in and kissing Billy’s cheek, “and came out the other side softer because of it.” He kissed Billy’s other cheek. “I see someone who pretends he doesn’t care but who actually cares a metric fuck ton.” He kissed the corner of Billy’s mouth and Billy felt his breath catch in his throat. “Someone who has seen the darkness and would do anything he can to make sure the people he cares about don’t have to see it, too.” He kissed the other corner of Billy’s mouth before pulling away, and Billy tried not to whine at the space between them. “Did I get that about right?” 

“I don’t know about all that,” Billy breathed. Which was true - he wasn’t sure about _any_ of that. Harrington made it sound like Billy was worth something, which was a concept that was frustratingly foreign to him, despite how far he had come. “Anything else you’ve figured out about me, Harrington?”

Steve grinned at him, wide and bright, and he felt his chest ache. “Yeah, as far as I can tell, you’ve been dying to kiss me for, like months now.” 

Billy smirked. It had been more than a few months, but he’d keep that to himself “Thought I was hiding that better.” 

“Well, the good news is, despite your lack of respect for Keanu Reeves, I still wanna kiss you, too,” Steve said. 

“So it’s not just the little shorts?” Billy asked, lifting the shirt up and wiggling his hips. 

Steve reached out and laid his hand out across Billy's abs, sliding it to his side and yanking Billy over onto his lap. Billy scrambled to keep his balance, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders to keep from falling over at the sudden movement. “Not just the shorts, but I’m not complaining. Could get used to seeing you in my clothes.” 

“Sounds like you’re angling for more than a kiss, Harrington,” Billy taunted. 

Steve laughed. “Oh for sure, I’m looking for a _lot_ of kisses. Like, a sickening amount of kissing.” To punctuate the point, he grabbed Billy’s hands and kissed his knuckles. “Plus, hand holding.” He tangled their fingers together before going on. “And of course, cuddling, which you’ll say you hate but you ‘secretly’ love. Re-hashed debates about which Robin went on to become the best vigilante. Some heated arguments over stupid shit that just ends in us fucking on the kitchen table. And somewhere in there, some discussions about, like, self worth and fears and hopes and dreams and shit.” 

Billy squeezed Steve’s hand. “Quite the list.” 

“Yeah, well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching one too many courtroom procedurals and shows about law school, it’s that you go into negotiations asking for way more than what you think you’ll actually get,” Steve said. 

Billy’s heart seized up at the idea that Steve wanted all that with Billy, but thought there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to get it. As if Billy wasn’t dying to give it to him.

“You know most of those shows are wildly inaccurate representations of law school and the legal system in general, right?” Billy asked. “And negotiation is, like, a whole fucking class, it’s complicated.” 

Steve smiled at that. “See, that’s why I need a law school boyfriend to keep me in the loop. I’ve laid out my terms, so what do you say?”

Billy’s mind snagged on one word. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“I mean, it’s on the table,” Steve hedged. “I don’t know what you want.” 

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Billy said, before leaning down and pressing his lips to Steve’s in a soft kiss. Finally, a real fucking press of their lips together. His heart leapt in his chest and he felt himself smiling. He pulled away to say, “I might have some counter offers for you to consider, but I think we can reach an agreement here.”

“Again with the talking when we could be kissing instead,” Steve said before kissing down Billy’s jaw, along his neck. Billy let himself think about his secrets-not-secrets, those stupid fucking daydreams he’d pushed down into the darkness for so long now. 

And maybe they didn’t have to be something he locked away anymore. 

This was all Nancy’s fucking fault, and he’d never be able to thank her enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I would say I don't know why I keep putting Billy in short shorts, except I do know. #shortshortrights. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [herobuckybarnes](http://herobuckybarnes.tumblr.com).


End file.
